The Hunters, the Doctor and the Detective
by Cali the Little Calico Kitten
Summary: Plus a Fallen Angel, an Impossible Girl and an Army Doctor. SUPERWHOLOCK (Also crossover with BBC Sherlock). The characters of superwholock find themselves investigating a mysterious case and end up having to work together in a crazy adventure.
1. Chapter 1: The Case

**Author's Note:  
Hello! Welcome to my Superwholock story. I apologise in advance if this story becomes unrealistic( like these shows are realistic anyways), but I'm trying to put alot of ideas into this story, so I hope it works out. I also apologise if any character gets out of character, but I'll try to keep everyone in character, it's alot of characters to keep track of.  
The first chapter contains fluffy intros, but it is going somewhere(hopefully).  
If you have any suggestions please review and I'd love to know how what you think. Enjoy!  
Time lines(for your nerdy needs):  
-Doctor Who: Series 7 part 2 with Clara and the 11th Doctor (No spoilers for finale contained)  
-Supernatural: Season 8 after episode 8 (It's a bit AU, but it was hard to find a Supernatural Season to set it in)  
-Sherlock: After Reichenbach, and in this story Sherlock is back with John solving cases  
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who or Sherlock, nor do I own any of their characters/objects. All rights belong to respective companies and persons. No profit is made, it is only for entertainment (= So, enjoy! (Sorry for long author's note).**

**This story can also be found on my Quotev profile Cali.**

* * *

In an indeterminate location above the Pacific Ocean, Dean Winchester clutched the sides of the plane's passenger chair tightly, trying to steady his breathing as the plane rocked slightly. _Just turbulence_, he tried to reassure himself. But his past experiences on planes led him to believe it might be a demon possessing the pilot, or perhaps the apocalypse decided to start again. That would be just his luck. Besides, he just _really_ disliked flying.

He sighed deeply, glaring it his brother as his knuckles were turning white over the armrests on the seat. It was all Sam's fault; he was the one who noticed the case in Britain and decided that they just had to _fly_ over there and check it out. If this turned out to be noting he was so going to punch his brother.

"Why'd it have to be flying, Sam?" he complained.

His brother turned to glare at him, with his usual 'really, Dean?' face. "How else are we going to get there?" His face changed the classic 'I'm concerned about you' Sammy face. "The plane's not going to crash, Dean."

"You don't know that. It could crash at any time! And we could have… taken a boat or something!" Dean thought for a moment. "Or, we could have just asked Cas to mojo us there!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, it would take way too long to get there on a ship, and I'm sure Cas has better things to do. He's not your personal puppet, you can't just tell him to poof you somewhere just because you're afraid of flying there!"

"I am not afraid of flying, Sam! I just… don't like it…" Dean frowned.

"Yeah, whatever you say, Dean." Sam returned to looking at his laptop.

The plane lurched forward suddenly, causing Dean's stomach to churn. He got up out of his seat, without a word to his brother, heading in the direction of the bathroom.

"Dean!" he heard Sam call from behind him.

"Gotta go, Sammy!" he called back, gripping the backs of the seats as he walked along the plane's aisle. It seemed like an eternity until he reached the bathroom.

After washing himself up, Dean turned to leave the small bathroom, when he collided with someone. _In_ the tiny bathroom. _With_ him. He instantly freaked out, reaching for the weapon he didn't have, because of course, he was on a plane. He would just have to do with punching, or running, or maybe salt, but he just stood there startled, staring at the familiar trench-coated figure, as recognition set in.

Innocent and piercing blue eyes stared back at him. "Dean," the angel greeted, in a familiarly gruff voice.

"Cas…" Dean sighed, "How many times have I told you not to just pop in like that? You startled me, man."

Castiel frowned. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"It's okay." Dean sighed, heart still racing from his fright. Plus, they were on an _airplane_.

The angel's deeply blue eyes seemed to stare into his soul. Dean wondered briefly if they really could. "Like I told you before, Dean, I want to be a Hunter. I want to help you and Sam; help other people."

He seemed determined and Dean wasn't going to turn him down. He was his friend, and it was of course a huge advantage to have an angel around. "Of course, Sam can tell you all about the crazy case we've found."

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean was about to leave the small room, when he wondered something. "Cas?" he started.

"Yes, Dean."  
"Was it hard to land on a moving airplane?"

The angel frowned again. "It was…" he searched for words, "challenging, yes, but I managed without much difficulty—"

"Excuse me!" Dean heard a woman's voice, from outside the door. "Are you alright in there?"

"Fine!" Dean called.

"Dean, I believe we should leave this bathroom now."

Before the angel had a chance, the door was opened for him, and an attendant stood outside, glaring at the two men suspiciously.

Dean was suddenly awkwardly aware of how close he was standing to his angelic friend in the small, cramped space. "I…we were…just…" he began awkwardly.

"I think the woman wants us to leave now, Dean. Come on." Castiel grabbed Deans arm, unknowingly saving him from an awkward explanation (_Oh yeah, my angel friend here just teleported into the bathroom here. Sorry, he's not so good with personal space issues_), by leading them away from the woman, to Sam.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greeted the younger Winchester, as they arrived at his seat.

Sam looked up from his laptop, as the two sat down. "Hey, Cas." Sam looked confused, "Why are you here?"

"He wants to help with the case," Dean supplied, "I told him you'd fill him in on the details."

"Oh, yeah, of course." Sam looked back at his computer screen. "In London this morning, twenty people just dropped dead at a park. All of them had a heart attack at _the same time_."

Okay, Dean had to admit that it was defiantly a very weird case that deserved their attention, which is why he agreed to the plane thing anyway, but he still didn't like it.

Cas was staring at Sam. "I don't know of any creature that can do that."

"That's what I said," Dean commented, breathing in hard as the plane lurched slightly again. He gripped the armrests so tightly he thought they might crumble in his hands.

Castiel looked at Dean, noticing his obvious discomfort. "Dean, are you okay?"

"Fine, Cas." Dean managed.

"He's afraid of flying in airplanes," Sam told the angel.

Dean would have defiantly punched his brother if he wasn't concerned with the current jerky tilts the plane was having. _Not crashing, not crashing, not crashing… _

Cas tilted his head at Dean. "I don't understand, Dean, you've been in more dangerous places than an airplane."

A voice on the loudspeaker announced that they were going through some turbulence, and everything would be fine, and they would be landing in a couple hours.

Dean let out a deep sigh at this statement. _Two whole hours_. He gripped the chair as if his life depended on it. "I just _really _hate planes."

* * *

Elsewhere in London, specifically in the flat at 221B Baker Street, John Hamish Watson was awoken from a rather pleasant sleep with the loud screeching of an out of tune and rather high pitched violin note. He groaned, staring at the clock; it was 4 A.M. _Who plays violin at 4 A.M.?_

"Sherlock!" he grumbled, "We've talked about this!" He looked up to see his flatmate towering over his bed, bow and violin in hand. "You can't practice the violin at four in the morning! I need _sleep_!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Sleeping, John? _Dull_!" He screeched another note on his violin as if to prove a point. John would swear that he was playing these screeching noises just to annoy him. "Get _up_, John!" Sherlock pulled the covers off of his bed, much to John's annoyance. "We have a _case_!" He ran out of the room like an excited two year old.

Unfortunately, and since it was a case after all, John Watson reluctantly pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. Okay, maybe not reluctantly, since he was awake now after all the yelling and screeching and no one could blame him if he was at least a little bit excited about having another case…

When he got out, Sherlock Holmes was looking intently at the screen of John's laptop. "Twenty people just dropped dead of heart attacks at a park all at once, John! I think it's my birthday!"

John sighed again, picking up a tea pot, careful to avoid another cup filled with an unidentified liquid. "Sherlock, it's not your birthday. At least try to act like people's deaths don't make you happy."

Sherlock waved that notion off. "Why, John? I don't care what they think. They're wrong."

John sighed, focusing on making some tea, while he silently wondered something. "Sherlock, do you even know when your birthday is?"

"No, deleted that information a long time ago."

"You don't even know your own birthday?!"

"Yes, John, that is what I just said." Sherlock jumped up from the chair, grabbing a scarf along the way. "Mycroft might know," he added, as if that made it alright.

John sighed in defeat, sipping his tea.

"No time, John! I've called a cab!" Sherlock was out the door before John could react.

"Wait, Sherlock!" John called, dropping his tea, and instantly running after his friend, grabbing his coat on the way out.

"Mrs. Hudson!" he called, though he didn't know if she was awake yet, "We're going out!"

He ran down the stairs and out of the flat, catching up to Sherlock. They hurriedly climbed into the cab.

"Has Lestrade called you in?" John asked.

"No. But, he will."

John sighed again. "Sherlock, you know he doesn't like it when you just show up at crime scenes without asking."

"He needs my help anyways, and he knows it."

They sat in silence for a while, until Sherlock's phone began to ring. He picked it up, looking dramatically at John.  
"Oh yeah, Lestrade? You need us on the case at the park?" he said sarcastically, "Yes, we'll be there in two minutes."

He hung up the phone and looked triumphantly at John. "See, told you."

* * *

"I am defiantly, absolutely _sure_ that I landed her here! Right in your backyard!"

Sometime near after the Winchesters landed, Clara Oswin Oswald watched as the Doctor scanned her backyard for his beloved time traveling blue police box. He was clearly displeased about this.

"Are you sure, Doctor? You know, sometimes you don't always land in the right place…"

"Of course I'm sure!" he exclaimed looking behind the bushes for about the sixth time, "And of course I always land in the right place! It just…sometimes it takes a few tries is all…"

Clara glared at the Doctor. "Well, clearly it's not here."

The Doctor jumped up, staring at her. "Of course! Someone must have taken her!"

"The Tardis? In my backyard?" Clara questioned, wondering who she knew that would possibly want to steal an old police telephone box randomly sitting in her back yard. Nope, it was defiantly not anyone she knew.

The Doctor was pouting. "It's okay, Doctor, I'm sure we'll get her back eventually, we always do."

The Doctor sighed. "Yes of course." He sat down at a chair in front of the backyard. "Well, what am I going to do now?"

"You could—"

"I'm going to go find her!" The Doctor jumped up excitedly, beginning to run out of the yard. Clara ran blindly after her mad man with a box—without a box.

A short while later, she was following the Doctor into a grocery store. Apparently he _needed _a snack. Clara knew that what he really needed was not a snack, but indeed his time traveling bigger-on-the-inside box, but she went with him anyways.

He was standing at the corner of an aisle, murmuring something about fish fingers to go with the custard he was holding, when a man in a trench coat walked backwards into him, not paying attention to where he was going. The man turned around quickly as the Doctor tumbled backwards into a large pyramid-shaped stack of canned beans.

"Doctor!" Clara called, helping him up. The cans were rolling all over the place.

"Umm….sorry…" the man said in a deep, gravelly voice with a sort of confused look.

"It's quite alright." The Doctor smiled at the man. "That would probably have happened even if you weren't there." Clara silently agreed.

She thought that it was quite odd how the man's piercing blue gaze seemed to stare right through the Doctor. He tiled his head to the right. "Umm…Do you know where I can find…pie?"

Clara, who knew the store since she lived in the area, spoke up, pointing to a place on the left. "Pie is over there."

"Thank you, very much. It is very important that I have pie." _Okay_, Clara thought, _he's a little weird. _Then again, she was used to weird; she traveled with the Doctor, who was currently staring intently at the strange man, who began to walk towards the pie.

The Doctor dropped his custard, walking quickly behind the man. _This must be serious, he dropped the custard_, Clara thought.

She quickened her pace to keep up. "What?" she whispered to the Doctor, knowing something wasn't right.

"It's that man…there's just something…off about him—almost inhuman…"

This didn't surprise Clara anymore. "You sure?"

"Define sure."

Clara glared at him, not responding.

"It's just a feeling," the Doctor commented, watching as the trench-coated man walked over to two others, a pie now in his possession. "My feeling are always correct...most of the time."

The two other men both wore suits—_cheap suits_, Clara noted. One was exceedingly tall with very long brown hair that touched his shoulders, while the other had shorter brown hair and more average height. Trench coat man handed the shorter one the pie, who promptly slapped him on the back in thanks, taking the pastry.

The Doctor walked up to the men with authority, Clara following close behind. He held out his psychic paper. "Hello there, I'm D.I. John Smith, codename, the Doctor and this is my assistant, Clara. I'd like to ask you a few questions."

They looked slightly confused, but the taller man said, "Of course. Ask anything you like." Clara noticed he stamped on the shorter man's foot as he opened his mouth to speak, silencing him.

"Thank you," the Doctor smiled at them "Have any of you gentlemen seen a blue police telephone box?"

Clara mentally slapped him.

"Have we seen…what?" the shorter asked, raising his eyebrows at the question.

"A blue police box. I've… lost it."

"You've lost your blue police box?" the same man questioned.

"Yes."

"We have not seen any blue police boxes." Trench coat said seriously.

"We have, um, seen many pay phones around, though. I don't know if that helps?" Giant added.

"No…" the Doctor replied, sadly, "I'm just looking for a specific one."

Short spoke up in the awkward silence. "Well, now that we've established this, maybe we should—"

Giant whispered something to short, then turned to us. "We're actually from the FBI." He flashed a badge, "I'm Sam Goldenburg and this is my partner Dean Pascow…"

"I'm Castiel," Trench coat added.

"We were hoping you could give us a directions to the park," Sam continued, "I don't know if you've heard about the…suspicious deaths there, but we've been called in to help."

"Suspicious deaths…" Clara could hear the curiosity in the Doctor's voice. "Yes of course…" The Doctor looked at Clara for assistance.

"I can take you boys to the park," she supplied, grinning at the awkward Americans.

"That's great," Dean said dramatically, "Now, let me just buy my pie first…" He clutched the pie tightly.

Castiel was staring intently at the Doctor. "I'm sorry about your telephone box," he told him.

"Thank you," the Doctor replied, following the Americans into the check-out area and the mystery that was sure to come.


	2. Chapter 2: The Scene of the Crime

A/N: Hello there! Sorry about the gigantic wait. School was all "You're gonna have all this homework and projects and tests!" And I was all *Passes out from exhastion*. But, hopefully more updates soon when school isn't being a meanie... or I get used to all this work, which is more likely. Also... I'm sorry about the cab scene in this...I dunno...It just happened...*hides behind dalek for protection*.

ALSO THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for all the support, reviews, and favorites! I LOVE YOU ALL. Please enjoy, my fellow superwholockians. *Rant over*.

* * *

John Watson picked up his pace as he followed his best friend to the park, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape covering the entrance.

"Freak. John. Lestrade is waiting for you," Sally Donovan greeted them.

"Yes," he heard Sherlock state, clearing wanting to avoid conversation and get on to the crime scene. John silently agreed with him.

"You won't figure this one out," Anderson added, "It's impossible."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Please, Anderson, the simple act of something existing clearly means that it's not impossible. Are you really that stupid?" He gestured to Donovan "Just get her some flowers. That's what John does when he gets into a fight with his girlfriend."

John stood there awkwardly staring at the two as Sherlock ran on ahead. "Uhh, yeah, roses work really well…"

They just stared at a confused John in awkward silence.

"I think I'll go with Sherlock now!" John quickly ran after Sherlock, not giving them a chance to reply.

John spotted Lestrade staring intently at a path in front of him. As John walked over a hill, he could see twenty bodies just lying on the path. Sherlock bolted past the Detective Inspector, ignoring him completely, and crouching to stare at the nearest body, a woman in about her late twenties, John guessed.

Lestrade looked down at Sherlock, "You got here quick."

The consulting detective murmured a small noise something along the lines of 'mhmm,' staring intently at the body, then quickly jumping over to the next. "John! Are you seeing this! This is amazing!" He leaped to the next with way to much joy.

"Yes, I'm coming, Sherlock!" John called to him, then turned to a confused looking Lestrade. "Hey, Greg. Sorry, he's a bit hyper today."

"Today?" Lestrade questioned.

John shrugged. "He thinks it's his birthday."

"Oh God no."

"I know."

The Detective Inspector sighed deeply, and John easily recognized it as the sigh of defeat many uttered while in the presence of Sherlock. John was sure that this sigh had a special extra annoyed and defeated quality that could on be brought on by Sherlock. "Well, I'm glad you two could make it because for once we actually have no idea what's going on here."

Sherlock huffed from where he was staring at a faraway body. "For once? Good joke, Lestrade. You _never_ know what is going on anywhere." He made eye-contact with John. "I think I'm beginning to understand humor, John! I'm improving!"

Lestrade uttered the special-Sherlock-sigh again.

"I better go help him." John walked over to where Sherlock was inspecting a young man.

"What do you think, John?" Sherlock stared intently at John, expecting him to give his opinion.

John crouched over the man, noticing no physical marks or anything at all suggesting someone had attacked him. He glanced around at all the other bodies. "I don't know, Sherlock. It's like they all just dropped dead. Their hearts all just stopped working suddenly. I would say they died of heart attacks…"

"But?" Sherlock prompted, all his attention focused on John.

"Well…they're all in good physical condition…none of them look like typical heart attack victims…and, they couldn't have all just dropped dead at once… If only one or maybe two had died, I would say natural causes, but it's too many to be a coincidence." John shook his head. What he was looking at made no sense to his medical brain. _Twenty_ people couldn't have all just dropped dead all at once in the same area.

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up with a huge grin on his face. "It makes no sense at all! It just couldn't have happened! But it _did_!"

Lestrade walked over to the two, while Sherlock inspected a young woman's handbag. "Have you got anything, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just stared intently at the bag and said nothing, his expression as unreadable as ever.

John tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Sherlock," he began.

"What!?" He snapped turning quickly to John. "Oh, sorry, John."

_Did he just apologize to me?_ John thought, incredulously. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Fine." The detective quickly stood up. "_Someone_ must have done this. It just _cannot _have been a coincidence." He shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense. It _can't_ have happened." He started to walk away from the crime scene without another word.

John looked at Lestrade. "Err…I think he has nothing, sorry," John said awkwardly, looking after a retreating Sherlock.

Lestrade breathed in deeply. "Well, bringing him in was a long shot. I don't think anyone has an explanation for this." He looked at John. "Just make sure he's alright."

"Of course." John watched Sherlock walk past Anderson and Donovan without making a clever remark. _I'll try_, John thought, running after Sherlock. Everyone who knew Sherlock knew it was _impossible_ to understand what he was feeling.

He ran up to find the detective hailing a cab and John quickly hopped into the cab after him.

"221B Baker Street." Sherlock murmured to the cabbie. Then he began to stare into space in silence. John really wished he would make his face more readable, but he could tell there was something wrong with his friend.

After a long silence, John spoke up. "You alright?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"No one else knows what happened there either, Sherlock. You're not the only one."

Sherlock said nothing, and stared resolutely at the back of the front passenger chair.

"Sherlock, I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I said, I'm _fine_, John."

John sighed deeply, and wondered if he should phone Mycroft. He quickly decided against that; he couldn't deal with two troubled geniuses at the moment. He just hoped his best friend would be alright.

* * *

"We should take a cab," Sam Winchester heard the young British woman, Clara, telling them.

He heard his brother sigh beside him. Sam knew Dean didn't like that he had to leave being Impala, his 'Baby,' in America.

"Yes, of course," Sam supplied, smiling at her, as she hailed a cab. Sam hoped he would be able to get a cab when the two Brits weren't around, as he had little experience with such things.

Clara went into the cab, and 'John Smith' followed after her. Sam was not sure that he trusted this 'John Smith.' Was there a more obvious fake name? He did suppose someone in the world would have to have the name, but _still_, Sam didn't trust him and he knew his brother wouldn't either. _Besides_, he thought, _who has a codename? And 'the Doctor'? Really? _Either he was lying or British police were just _really_ weird.

Sam climbed into the vehicle after the man.

Dean just stared at him from outside the car, an unhappy expression on his face. "Scoot over, Sammy."

Sam tried to scoot over, but 'the Doctor' was in the way. "Sorry, Dean. I can't."

"Just a little bit…" Dean pushed Sam into the man beside him.

"Dean!" Sam complained as his brother squished in beside him, closing the cab door. Sam was now squished by his brother on the left and the stranger on his right.

Sam gave his brother the most annoyed glare he could manage. "We could have gotten another cab."

"Afraid to get close to people, Sam?" Dean teased.

Sam glared some more at his brother, who was squished against the door.

"The park please," Clara called, squished between the door and John Smith.

Sam tried to find a position for his long legs to sit comfortably in, while making sure his head wasn't hitting the ceiling of the cab, but just ended up kicking John and banging his head against the ceiling. "Sorry," he called quickly, cursing his tallness for once.

"It's alright," the man smiled at Sam with a genuine, warm smile. This surprised Sam, who normally didn't get such warm smiles from many strangers.

"Wait," Sam heard Cas call from outside the door, and before he could protest he had a trench coated angel sitting on him and his older brother. "Okay you may drive now."

"Cas!" Sam and Dean yelled, simultaneously, but it was too late. The cab was moving.

"Well, isn't this cozy." Clara called to them.

Dean sighed. "Cas, you can't just…ow! You're squishing my leg!"

"Sorry, Dean." Castiel shifted, and his shoulder went into Sam's head.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Sam. There is insufficient room for five people in this vehicle."

The Doctor and Clara just laughed at their misfortune.

The cab ride was only a few blocks, but Sam would swear it was the longest ride he had ever been in. And he'd been on some _long_ and _annoying_ car rides.

Sam leapt out of the car after Dean and Castiel, feeling thankful for the fresh air and ability to move all of this limbs.

Dean straightened out his suit jacket. "I feel violated," he told Sam.

Sam grinned at his brother's discomfort, but silently agreed.

He looked to the other side of the cab to see Clara paying the cabbie with John beside her. "Thanks," Sam called over to the girl, who seemed rather normal compared to the strange other man.

The odd group of acquaintances walked along the side walk leading to the park.

"Why do you even have a codename?" Dean questioned.

"Why not? Codenames are cool!" He bounded across the park gleefully. "But crime scenes… now, crime scenes are just utterly fascinating!"

"Err…sorry…he gets excited easily," Clara explained, quickly running after him, leaving the two brothers and their angel behind.

"I told you, Sammy, British people are _weird_."

Sam didn't have any evidence to disprove that. "Yeah, I'm noticing…"

At the crime scene, an older man greeted the five people who were destined to be stuck together for an unfortunately long period of time.

"What are you doing at my crime scene?"

"We've been called in to investigate this case. We're from the FBI," Sam told the man, holding out his freshly printed fake FBI I.D. Dean did the same, while nudging Castiel to awkwardly pull out his I.D.

"I'm Dean Pascow, this is Sam Goldberg and Castiel Mason," Dean supplied.

"FBI?" The man furrowed his brow, breathing in deeply, "What's America got to do with this?"

"We just think you could use all the help you can get… Mister…"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade. And, to be honest, I don't think you're going to be much help. I've already had my best man on the case and he has nothing. I don't know if there is an explanation for what happened in this park."

"Well, we hope to provide… fresh insight on the case," Sam told him, certain his 'insight' would be helpful in the case.

The D.I. sighed, lifting up the crime scene tape. "Well, good luck."

Sam ducked under the tape as his brother and their angel followed. The D.I. paused as the Doctor and Clara ducked under.

"Wait… Are these two with you?" Lestrade asked the Winchesters.

"No, I'm Detective Inspector John Smith, codename the Doctor, and this is my assistant, Clara Oswald." The Doctor grinned wildly at Lestrade, pulling out his Identification. "We've also been called in to assist the investigation."

Lestrade frowned. "Am I really that bad at my job?"

"No, no, of course not. You do your job brilliantly." The Doctor grinned at the man.

"He merely provides a different perspective on things that could be essential to solving this case," Clara added, helpfully.

Lestrade's frown deepened. "Alright, come through."

When all five were through, they went on to the crime scene.

_Too many bodies_, was the first thought that went through Sam Winchester's head. He had seen more dead and dying people in his life than he could count, but he had never seen anything like this. Twenty people lay dead on park grass. Twenty people who had lives and family and friends. Sam Winchester frowned, trying to bury those thoughts into the back of his head, as he always tried to, without much success. He looked to his brother, who was clearly having similar thoughts. Dean's fists were clenched and his whole face looked sad.

"…Too many bodies, Sammy, too many…" Dean took a deep breath, and his expression turned to a determined one.

The two brothers walked over to where Castiel was crouched next to a young dead woman.

Sam smelled the air as he walked, smelling only the light breeze and trees. _No sulfur. No ectoplasm._

The angel frowned at the dead woman. "She just dropped dead after her heart stopped," he said, "the same with the others."

"What could do that?" Sam wondered aloud, "No sulfur, no ectoplasm. Not demons or ghosts…"

"I don't know," Dean commented, looking to Castiel, "Angels?"

The fallen angel shook his head. "This is not the work of an angel."

"Witches?" Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head, "Why would witches kill twenty random people? I don't see any hex bags…"

Sam stopped as the Doctor came over to crouch next to where them. He too looked sad. "I don't know what could have done this…" he shook his head, "I just don't see how it's possible."

Sam doubted the man knew as much as they did, but still agreed with him.

"Hey, boys!" a voice called, and the three men turned quickly and saw Clara waving at them. "Over here!"

The Doctor jumped up first, running over to his companion, as the others followed.

She held a bit of paper in her hand. "I found it in this woman's bag." She pointed to a nearby dead lady. "It says 'U O ME.' It's written in blood. Take a look."

Sam took the paper from her, looking at it carefully. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe somebody has a debt?" Dean supplied, "It could be unrelated."

"Or it could be a clue." The Doctor grinned, clearly very excited at the prospect of a clue.

Sam sighed. "Well, it's the only thing we've got." He looked around for some type of crime scene tech. "We should get it analyzed for DNA…"

"Need something analyzed?" A nearby man asked.

"Err…yes," Sam said, holding out the paper to the man wearing a protective suit. It didn't take a detective to work out that he was a crime scene tech, "Could you get this analyzed?"

Another woman walked up to them. She looked at Sam, wide-eyed. "You found evidence that Freak missed?"

Sam was very confused. "I…umm…"

"Actually, it was me that found it," Clara supplied. The Doctor patted her on the back, both grinning like idiots.

"Freak?" Castiel said, joining the conversation, "Do you mean that you have some sort of monster working within your department?"

The woman and the man laughed. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I suppose you could say that. You must be new here. I'm Sergeant Donovan, this is Anderson. He'll make sure the evidence gets processed."

Sam reluctantly handed the paper to Anderson, who looked at it carefully.

"Well, were Sam, Dean, and Castiel from the FBI, and these two are D.I. Smith and Miss Oswin," Sam informed her.

Donovan smiled at Clara. "Wow. The Freak was outsmarted by a girl. He'll never hear the end of this."

"You…owe…me…" Anderson said slowly, staring at the paper, "It's probably a message."

"Yeah, we got that," Sam noted, "We need you to get DNA on the blood."

"Yeah, I'll send it to our lab," the man replied, bagging the evidence.

"So…this 'Freak'" The Doctor said, "He works with you in crime scenes?"

Donovan snorted. "He's works with himself. Well… there's also that John Watson. It's a shame, he seems like such nice person."

"Is this 'John Watson' also a monster?" Castiel asked seriously, head tilted.

Dean glared at the angel, hopefully silencing him. "What my friend is trying to ask, is there any way we can get into contact with this man? You say he helps you solve a lot of cases?"

"Yeah. His name is Sherlock Holmes. He lives at 221B Baker Street. Be careful though, if you want to keep your sanity," Donovan informed them.

"More like if you want to keep yourself from shooting him, or even yourself." Anderson added.

_These people are rather rude_, thought Sam. Even so he thanked them, and the five unlikely acquaintances made their way back to London's streets.

"Off to see this Sherlock Holmes then?" Clara clarified.

"I guess so," Dean said.

"What kind of creature is he?" Castiel questioned.

"Dude, they didn't mean he was a monster," Dean answered the clueless angel.

Cas frowned. "But they called him a freak?"

Dean rolled his eyes again. Sam sighed. It was like telling a five year old not to pay attention to bullies. "He must be a just little weird or something, I'm sure he's fine."

"I hope he has fish fingers and custard, I'm starving!" The Doctor commented.

_By the time we get there, we may be used to weird_, Sam thought, watching the strange man with a 'codename.'

"We should get two cabs," Dean said, as Clara called a cab.

Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, as Sam hailed another cab.

"221B Baker Street," Sam told the cabbie.


End file.
